An American in Paris

Lunch was a crepe eaten standing on a bridge over the Seine. Behind me were the towers of Notre Dame and below a tourist boat passed every few minutes. I ate to the tunes of competing street musicians - a talented guitarist and a run-down man lurching through notes on a battered accordian. Though the guitarist was indisputably more enjoyable to listen to, the accordian player, who sat halfway on the street and halfway on the curb, was by far the more interesting.

As I finished my crepe and crossed to the other side of the river, thinking of the Romance of Paris, a saxaphone player entered the musical battle. He was both less talented than the guitarist and less interesting than the accordian player (who, I had concluded, was almost definitely drunk), and made the whole thing a little tedious.

In my hurry to turn away from the empty saxaphone case, I caught a glimpse of a group of Parisian teenagers skateboarding on the sidewalks next to the Seine. I wonder how it would feel to be normal - not a tourist - in a city so surrounded by history. How can you reconcile a sulky teenager in baggy jeans with a romanticized Paris? I tried to put myself in their sneakers, but I cannot imagine skateboarding with Notre Dame behind me or the Seine below me. I am almost positive this imaginative block does not stem from my inability to stay upright on a skateboard.

Suddenly tired of tourists and Parisians alike, I decided to devote the afternoon to romanticism in the form of literature and writing instruments. I visited Shakespeare & Company before walking up and down the Rue du Pont Louis-Phillipe (a recommendation from Michael Keller, whom I would suggest consulting before any trip to France), where I browsed through stationary to my heart's content. The evening will find me at Michael Keller's favorite Paris restaurant, L'A.O.C. I feel quite cultured and have determined that tomorrow's running tunes will be Gershwin's An American in Paris.